


kiss me mischievously 'till your name stains on my lips

by douxapricus



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, M/M, More tags will be added later, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/douxapricus/pseuds/douxapricus
Summary: from a single glance, everyone saw her as an angel sent from heaven: genial, bright, and the embodiment of the ‘perfect girl’, but she couldn’t fool damian wayne.in other words  ─  damian thinks the french girl from beauxbatons academy isn’t as innocent as she seems to be...or at least when she’s around him.hogwarts!au ↯moments captured between the two champions from their respective schools as they vie for the victory of the triwizard tournament, while hopelessly (and awfully) trying to fight off their attraction for one another.
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne
Comments: 29
Kudos: 182





	1. a blessing in disguise

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year everyone!! May this year bring you all joy and luck :)
> 
> To celebrate, I decided to post this story I've been recently hiding. I've always wanted to write a ff in the Hogwarts universe, so why not do it with Daminette?? I tremendously am going to be harsh on myself, though, because I know I am super horrible at updating - or rather working with multiple chapters, but I really couldn't help myself; the ideas for this story were popping in left and right.
> 
> As a disclaimer, I do not own Miraculous Ladybug, DCU, nor Harry Potter. In addition, for this chapter solely, I will be adding a few excerpts: Inward by Yung Pueblo. Again, I do NOT OWN any of these four works - ALL rights go to the authors.
> 
> It's been such a long time since I've read Harry Potter. I hope you guys don't mind if I alter some things that may not happen in the series, and my apologies if I were to get any information wrong. 
> 
> And one last thing, very slow updates because I'm a slow ass writer lol, I'm sorry,

In the wake of the moment, Damian Wayne never had the urge to ram his head onto the table until now. 

His belongings, neatly sprawled across the wood surface, suffered his annoyance when the Slytherin thrust away from the table; his hands gripped the ridge, the chair silently squealed back against the hardened floor to produce a shaky aftershock. 

The past ten minutes had been nothing, but tattle. Ten minutes filled with triviality, and ten minutes he would never get back due to the endless hushed whispers located two bookshelves away from him.

“I heard Eisenhardt got an offer to join the German National Quidditch Team!” 

“Kaiser Eisenhardt?”

“Blimey. What else does that bloke have that I don’t?!”

“For starters, looks, self-esteem - ”

“Oy, watch your tongue.” He heard a hiss, and Damian could envision a jab to the stomach. 

“Well, of course, it is expected of _the_ Kaiser Eisenhardt, not only is he the Champion for Durmstrang, but his dad works at the Department of Magical Games and Sports!”

There was a brisk gasp. 

“Jarvis Eisenhardt, the head of the department, why didn’t I notice that?”

“I’d say, Kaiser sure got it nice for him. Coming from old money must be a blessin’, it’s like he doesn’t have to lift a finger — nuthin’!”

“Yank my wand, will ya. The Champions for the Tournament this time are as formidable as my mum’s hosepipe!”

“ _Huh_? Bollocks — _hosepipe_?” The tone drenched in puzzlement and a hint of scoffing at the preposterous comparison.

“What are you, a shrub?”

“You gits wouldn’t be talking if you met mum’s wrath. With her attitude, that hosepipe is strong enough to send me flying!” he half-exaggerated, a rustle of sounds that were most likely from his frenzied gestures.

Damian rolled his eyes and began packing up. 

_Idiots._

“As we were saying,” there came a brief pause to indicate a dispatched glare to his companion, “have you seen the girl from Beauxbatons, the one with the blue hair?”

One of them sighed, dreamily. “Merlin, she’s gorgeous! She walked past by me, and I swore I saw butterflies radiating behind her.”

They easily concurred. “Cute as a button. I heard even top celebrities have sought her attention for her original designs. Besom is an already known fashion designer.”

“I was surprised when she wanted to participate in the Tournament; with those innocent eyes, she looks like she can’t harm a single fly.”

“It makes me wonder how she’ll fare, especially when she’s against the other two.”

The Slytherin’s ears perked, a sudden halt to the zipping of his schoolbag. The sixteen-year-old usually wasn’t one to eavesdrop, really, because it was an impractical process that required energy, and what use does sticking his nose into someone’s personal problems do? He didn’t need to know about an itchy rash or where the lost knickers were found after a snog session. However, in a situation where his keen sense foretold him where the next path this conversation was bound to divulge in, it was only a matter of self-defense to access what the three berks were about to utter next.

“Poor girl. She seems fragile as it is. Wouldn’t want the two savages to dominate her, do we?”

 _Fragile...Savages?_ Damian nearly scorned.

He had no X-ray vision. What he possessed, though, was his adept hearing. And from what Damian could tell, the underlying mordant buried in the mask of apprehension of their statement was enough for the boy to feel a tsunami of chagrin rush at him.

A flick of his wrist did the zipper finish its job before he slung his bag over his shoulder. Silent treads led him to the bookshelf, directly in front of the origin of his disturbance. There, he stood. A finger skimmed the spines of each specified knowledge until it rested on a random book. 

_Inward_ by Yung Pueblo

He skipped through, eyes roamed the textured pages as it gradually landed on a point. 

> **...many of us walk the earth as strangers to ourselves, not knowing what is true, why we feel what we feel, actively working to repress experiences or ideas that are too jarring for us to observe and release.**

“Damian is a demon himself. Someone told me when a person sat in his seat, that person was never to be seen ever again.” The next bit came in a quieter murmur. “You think he used the dark charms?” 

“Wouldn’t shock me. He’s practically a brilliance — an ace! Not to mention his reputable brothers that graduated a while back.” 

One of the boys shivered. “Oh, to be competing against him is worse than a Dementor.”

“Hold your hippogriffs. I didn’t even know he submitted his name in the Goblet; I honestly didn’t think of him the type to sign up. He’s not one to partake in these activities.”

> **...it is a paradox occurring in the human mind: we run away from what we do not want to face, from what brings feelings of pain, and from problems we don’t have answers to, but in our running away from ourselves we are also running away from our own freedom.**

An exhale that underrated his indifference, yet penetrating intimidation, motivated him to skid his tongue across his teeth. A ground break to dig in his canine.

He wasn’t the same person six years ago; a ticking time bomb with a temper as hot as volcanic lava. There came moments where he had the need to lash out and ultimately perpetuate in his own means, to show that at the end of the day, he conquered and there was no one in this existence that could succumb Damian Wayne into docility. But, the boy knew better — _became_ better, in fact. He progressed so far compared to how he used to be; no longer the reckless and bratty kid. Stubborn, yes, still, along with it carried self-restraint and perception, something he didn’t bear up till he started to live with his father. 

Apathetically, the boy flipped through the next page.

> **a body is a field of moving energy and a system of information. as life continues its fluctuations, we tend to gather attachments, burdens, and sorrows. we hold them so tightly that they become embedded in the body, causing blockages and disruptions in the flow of our system, which can limit access to the best possible version of ourselves—**

“How much do you guys wanna bet he’s secretly part of the Obsidian Umbra?”

Damian froze. 

The repercussions of the tsunami rammed him from inside out, endeavoring to drown in all rational thoughts as he consciously held onto the brink of composure that threatened to combust.

“Not so loud, you buffoon!”

“Five Galleons.”

“If he was one, it’ll sure explain everything.”

“So different compared to his brothers. You would’ve never thought they were related - ”

Deciding that was enough, Damian snapped the novel shut. Through the small gaps of the bookshelves allowed him to witness the small jump from one (a ginger) of the three. 

The ginger’s cautious realization caused his head to dart back and forth to distinguish the unknown source, but his two friends had yet to notice. 

“D’you know two of them were the captains of their Quidditch teams?”

“Did you guys hear that?” yelped the ginger. Alas, no one heeded him.

“Who doesn’t? It’s crazy, my sister told me the oldest one was the nicest guy she’d ever met. No way he could be related to Damian, aka the guy who seems like he’s gonna murder anyone who steps in his path.”

The Slytherin rounded past the corner of the cabinet, and at last, he found the culprits. 

They were underclassmen, perhaps fifth years. From their boyish, prepubescent appearance, he pinpointed their ages between fourteen-fifteen. One redhead and two brunettes that stopped right under his chin.

Damian didn’t stare at them openly, rather kept his six feet distance away and proceeded to casually examine the neatly organized titles. He appeared nonchalant like he wasn’t about to send those three straight to the Horcrux Cave. But in the name of Merlin, help those two brunettes that failed to notice the very person of their hot gossip was right behind them. Freckled boy’s, on the other hand, jaw hung wide-open when he caught a glimpse of the notorious Slytherin.

From his peripheral vision, he saw the color drained from the fifth year’s face. Eyes as large as a frog, while his mind scrambled to find the words to warn his mates. 

The boy stuttered in a trembling mess, “G-guys…”

“Henry, you all right? Did you see Peeves again?” one of the brunettes joked.

The other blinked. “You look like you've seen a Dementor.” He waved a hand in front of him. 

Henry shook his head, eager. “B-behind…” A weak finger was raised to aim at Damian, who ended up leaning against the shelf.

His hand traced his jaw-line, and Damian enabled himself to ponder where he should go next to continue his studying when he felt two more pairs of eyes fall on him. The sixteen-year-old was quick to catch the inaudible inhales when he snapped his head up. 

Green eyes never expressed so dauntingly shook them to the core. Damian straightened himself from his prior position and trudged to them. He smelt their anxiety increasing exponentially with each stomp as if every step was a step closer to their demises. They could only watch him. The Ice Prince needn't to mumble a single word, for the mere sight of him was all it took for a spell to be cast, stupefying them in their unfortunate state. 

His shoulders brushed the two brunettes when he wedged himself in between them. Instantly, like they touched poison, the two flinched back to make way.

Damian lowered his face to their level and spoke, “Talk about me once more, and you all will never live a day to say a single word again.” 

Biting down their tongues to make sure it was still there, they nodded obediently before bowing their heads in hopes of avoiding his death stare. Despite the Ice Prince’s impassive expression, they weren’t fools to recognize the glint of menace flashed across the cunning orbs of a true Slytherin. 

The said Slytherin eyed them individually and broke off from the group. With a slight bob of his head, he dusted the imaginary debris off his shoulders. 

“Good,” he vocalized under his breath and strolled out of the library. 

* * *

The shining daylight blinded him. For a second, he squinted his eyes to adjust to the gleaming rays and went on his way. 

Fists in his robes, he minded his business, while spontaneously taking in the fresh air.

Back then, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity or much less the permission to admire the environment around him. It was a waste of time, ‘a distraction to his training’ they said. Even so, times were different now. Now, he could freely bask in the sun’s glow or ogle at the sway of tree leaves whenever a breeze passed by.

The second week of September meant the farewell of the summer season and the greeting of Autumn. The weather was a bit chiller. The leaves crisped with tints of marmalade. The flaming star descended gracefully against the apricot hues of the sky, itching to kiss the horizon as soon as possible. 

He peeked at his surroundings. The fountain courtyard held no more than seven people, either relaxing or goofing amongst their friends. Some people walked by him, assumably in a rush to get to their next class or off to wherever Merlin knows, but it wasn’t hard to note how determined they were to get bundled up: their robes wrapped tighter, hands rubbed vigorously together, or their hastened pace to find warm shelter.

Damian didn’t mind the cold. If truth be told, he didn’t get cold. He liked the feeling of coolness cleansing over him as if to rid of all of the pent-up negative energy. It calmed him. It granted him to think clearly and reset his mind after a long day.

And he did just that. Eyes straight, while his body went on autopilot. Checked into his regular routine, he initiated the procedure. Immediately, images of the events that occurred today emerged. They ran through his vision, one by one, faster than a soaring bullet. Then, he let his physique do the rest of the work. Deep breaths loosened his tight grasp hidden in his robes, while he slowly relished the frigid air tranquilizing his ecstatic nerves. 

Damian was almost done — _almost_ done. Yet soon arrived a burst of twinkling laughter that spawned him to jerk his eyes and back to vigilance. Vulnerable, his muscles hardened, and his usual frown made its infamous appearance. 

Carefully, he sneaked a sideways glance to the courtyard. 

It landed on the blue-haired girl from Beauxbatons Academy. He didn’t know her name, or really, didn’t make the effort to remember. 

_Mariah, was it? Mareesa? Marianne?_

Nevertheless, she was supposedly the Champion of her school. 

Sitting on the grass with a towel underneath her, she giggled at whatever her friends were saying. Legs politely tucked beside her, she aligned her stance and hid her mirth behind dainty hands.

_“Poor girl. She seems fragile as it is. Wouldn’t want the two savages to dominate her, do we?”_

Damian blinked.

Certainly, the sixteen-year-old admitted to being arrogant from time to time, but he sure wasn’t one to underestimate someone because what good did it bring anyway? If there was a lesson his grandfather drilled in him from day one, it was to always stay on guard no matter how the opponent portrayed themselves. 

Because of Jon and his undying love for Quidditch, the Ice Prince was vaguely familiar with the name Kaiser Eisenhardt. Although it stung him to acknowledge, the fellow Durmstrang student acquired _some_ impressive skills, not that the Hogwarts’ Champion would ever speak out loud in any case. He discerned stories, prattings, and even saw the blonde on the _Seeker Weekly_ ; a moving image of him triumphing in victory after seizing the Golden Snitch to end the lengthy game. Don’t get him wrong, the Slytherin knew greater than to believe affirmations based on possibly amplified narratives and doubtful rumors; in spite of everything, the German did receive an invitation to join the National Quidditch Team, so that had to mean something, right?

All things considered, at least Damian _had_ something on Eisenhardt; a basic foundation and profile of his adversary. 

In contrast, he absolutely knew nil about the Beauxbatons' girl.

Neither of the three schools shared classes with one another, leaving only the Great Hall and interludes for them to form camaraderies. And since the foreign guests only arrived last week — not much daring to include Damian’s unforthcoming behavior — the chances were exceedingly not probable for the latter to attain any information on the girl. This was, maybe, his second time seeing her. The first occasion ensued when her name was called up and when he met her, alongside the Durmstrang pupil after the declarations from the Goblet of Fire.

Solely, but nothing to establish on, it left him no choice but to observe her from where she sat.

No beliefs conjured him. What he managed to surmise was her dignity. Much like he first laid eyes on her, she maintained an enlivened manner compared to flowers on the earliest days of spring. She looked so serene, so jovial, so gentle...like the embodiment of a perfect being — everything he was not. 

She must have finally noticed someone was watching her from afar when she shifted her attention to his.

Her facial expression lifted, astonished, from his undivided scrutiny. Her laughing died down behind her hands and shortly dropped them to her lap. Her two companions hadn’t spotted her abrupt silence, for they were too occupied bickering. 

When the slight gust prompted a loose strand from her braid to flutter with it, her lips curved upward at him. A soft smile framed her doll-like features, enhanced under the last few beams of sunlight.

Damian averted his eyes. Returning to his business, he sighed and stuffed his pockets anew.

* * *

“Damian!”

_“Shh!”_

Damian peered up from his textbook, _Confronting the Faceless_ , to find a cheeky grin that belonged to none other than the only person he could tolerate, Jonathan Kent. 

He scowled and nudged the newcomer’s elbow off his table. 

The Gryffindor pouted, not trying in the slightest to muzzle his voice. “C’mon, Damian, what’s the bad attitude?” 

_“Shh!”_ He earned another warning from the students around them.

“It’ll be a bad attitude if you don’t shut your mouth,” retorted the Slytherin.

Jon ignored him and continued on. “What’cha doin’ here in the Great Hall? Weren’t you at the library?”

Damian reached to comb his fingers through his hair, but almost gave the impression he wanted to rip it out alternatively.

“Couldn’t focus.”

“And you didn’t go to the Common Room?”

The boy scribbled harshly onto his parchment. “Must you inquire about every little thing?”

The black-haired guy shrugged, an innocent beam surfacing. “Just wanna know what woes my best friend encountered today.” 

Ice Prince shot him a bitter lour. 

Jon gave a cheery chortle and settled his back against the edge of the table, hands behind him. “You know, for someone who represents Hogwarts, you sure look like someone who should be from Durmstrang instead.”

He answered blankly, rotating his concentration back and forth from his book to the parchment paper, “And how significant does appearance dictate anything?”

“A lot!” he piped.

_“Shh!”_

“Sorry.” He scratched his temple in a sheepish manner. 

A few girls on the far side of them, however, giggled and had no shame in fluttering their eyelashes at the popular Gryffindor, who responded with a friendly wave, completely oblivious to the not-so-subtle flirtations targeted toward him. 

“If I didn’t know, I would’ve thought you and Kaiser went to each other’s schools,” divulged the happy male. 

“I wonder why.” Came a wry reply.

His friend didn’t catch the ridicule and rested a finger on his chin for dramatics. “Well, for one, you wear dark colors often, especially black. While Kaiser likes to show off whatever he wears and be in the spotlight, you seem like you wanna throw knives at anyone who’s in the same room as you.”

Damian’s lips snarled. He turned over the next page a little harder than necessary. “And your point?”

The taller one gaped at him like his clarification should’ve been self-explanatory — but to Jon’s ignorance, Damian wasn’t particularly listening to him to begin with — “Kaiser looks like he goes to Hogwarts, and you Durmstrang. Durmstrang Institution sounds so dark, aggressive, somber…” the tall male trailed off in preparation to finishing off, “like you.”

Gee, if Damian wasn’t so tangled up in finishing his DADA’s essay, he would’ve recognized the insult his so-called best mate flung at him. _Cough,_ the derision — 

“Since you’re so mopey all the time, then, there’s no wonder why people would assume you go there. And that, my mate, is why appearance matters.” He ended it with a firm dip of his head, as if whatever he had scarcely said deemed an automatic certitude. 

— yeah, whether or not he totally wasn’t so cooped up in writing down this last sentence, the Ice Prince definitely would’ve _ascendio_ him across the hall. 

As if it was their cue, the girls prior swooned a second time, convinced that whatever codswallop the thick Gryffindor uttered, it was adorable as his looks. 

For an instant, the green-eyed boy honestly did contemplate using the _ascendio_ charm, and he would gladly add in Jon’s fan club as well if it meant solitude. But did he genuinely want to suffer through his father’s and older brother’s scoldings? The notion itself caused him to feel a void of vitality and a vast chore of exhaustion. Suddenly, the youngest Wayne already started to sense his lack of energy.

Gallopin’ gorgons, he couldn’t dread either one of their tedious lectures. So to save himself from potential misery, he begrudgingly picked up his quill. 

He simply returned, “Wow, I would have never noticed.”

The black-haired scoffed at the sarcasm and playfully kicked his legs out of boredom. “You don’t seem excited to participate in the Tournament.”

“Because I’m not.”

Jon puckered his lips and tried to be positive. “I mean, I know you didn’t put your name in, but this chance is once in a lifetime.”

“That’s exactly the case, Jon — I didn’t put my name in because I never _wanted_ to participate in the first place.” He released the quill to pitch the bridge of his nose. “How am I supposed to be excited and all relaxed when there is someone out there who purposely voted me in and is conceivably trying to set me up for demise??”

The merry sixteen-year-old clearly had amusement written on him. “Bro, now you’re mental talking. Trying to set you up for your demise? What is this, an action movie with some assassination?”

The Slytherin was having none of it. “With the life I used to have, might as well be.” He shook his head. “Someone is conspiring against me, and when I find out who it is, they wish they weren’t born.”

“So, what are you waiting for?”

“Huh?”

“It’s been, like, a week since you discovered an anonymous planned this. I thought you’d be going full-on detective mode by now.”

“If only it were that easy,” grumbled the shorter one. “Much to my great disappointment, identifying the criminal is not my priority, not right now. Juggling whatever tasks this Tournament has under its arsenal and my N.E.W.T-levelled classes, I really don’t have much of an option.”

“Hm, and Professor Fu is not doing anything about it?”

He groaned in defeat, not wishing to plunge into this topic. 

The next thing Jon did jostle him in his seat. With a firm slap on the back, Jon encouraged him with his usual smirks. 

“You’ll figure it out, I know you can.”

Although it was hidden, Damian was grateful for his companion. Affection nor geniality was in his forte, and everyone close to him was aware of that. However, from the bigger grin Jon somehow accomplished to do, Damian recognized the Gryffindor discerned the muted _thanks_ in his gaze.

“Look at the time,” Jon pretended to have a watch. “I gotta go or else I’ll be late to Herbology.”

Those Slytherin eyes studied him, intently. “But you don’t have Herbology today.”

As if he got slapped by a fly swatter, the lad stopped dead in his tracks and peeked at him funnily. “Did I say Herbology? I meant Quidditch!” His blue orbs darted to anything except him. “I forgot, I promised some underclassmen I’ll teach them some flying techniques. Ha-ha…” he meekly finished, tousling his black hair.

Damian was far from impressed.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Hehe, I really have to go now! Later!!” The words fell out his mouth just as rapidly as his feet transported him out of the big doors of the Great Hall.

Meanwhile, the lingering boy attempted to correlate how in the world his friend mixed up between Herbology and Quidditch. 

Further giggling brought him back to reality, and with an irritating turn, he half-snapped, “ _Would you mind?_ ”

* * *

He selected to take his friend’s advice and go to the Common Room.

Climbing up the Grand Staircase, he performed the same practice of examining the moving portraits hung on the creme walls to the point of memorizing where each painting resided. 

He momentarily greeted Giffard Abbott with a small incline as the British wizard, draped in vermillion fabrics, and his pet dog addressed. 

The sixth-year had to be in deep deliberation to be rocked by the unexpected stomps underneath him. Muddled, the boy peered over the handrail, speculating, with regards, what in Merlin’s beard could be creating a ruckus now? 

Vexed, those sharp and guileful orbs of his scanned the area to track down a disheveled Hufflepuff scampering through the stairs like he was in a marathon. The black and yellow scarf hung onto its dear life on his neck, while vibrations of raggedy puffs and tramps upon the polished floor bounced from wall to wall, gaining the curiosity of the individuals in the portraits. 

The Hufflepuff yelled repeatedly (despite the lack of people around him), his hands full on trying to contain the parchments from floating away. “Excuse me!” 

In gratitude to Damian’s shrewd vision, he could have missed the imperceptible words that barely tumbled out of this troubled male’s mouth.

_“Professor Flitwick is gonna kill me.”_

Late to class, he inferred, notably viewing the young boy’s red and flushed cheeks. 

The following happening transpired in a blur. 

Beauxbatons' Champion, who currently carried three large books, situated at the top of the stairway. Due to its towering height, it obscured her visibility to catch the Hogwarts student racing right toward her direction. He accidentally bumped in her shoulder, an immediate apology spoken before resuming his test of endurance. 

However, to the blue-haired girl’s dismay, approached a bulk of books that were initially in her arms to wheeling in mid-air. She gasped after rebalancing her floundering strides and leaped in. Both legs now off the stairs, she grabbed one of the books before slamming back down on the ground to do a one-handed cartwheel and gracefully plucked the rest of the flying textbooks. To top it off, she flattened her light cerulean uniform and fixed her braid. Her body rotated with her to see if anyone had witnessed the bizarre incident. When she realized no one did, she hummed in relief and broke out into a wide smile. Gaily, she skipped down the rest of the ascent as if nothing ever took place out of the ordinary, entirely unmindful of the Slytherin who perched two staircases above her.

Inert, Damian’s eyeballs refused to leave the suspicious female, while his brain strived to handle and convert the unfurled scene. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it; still, the duration of how long his feet hadn’t questioned to stir or the petite opening of his lips remarked differently.

Indeed, because it’s not like he precisely beheld a free acrobatics show two flights below him. 

His memory and reflection collided for space when he wandered back to Jon’s (simplistic) argument about appearance. There was correctness in which outward characteristics played an important role, especially when it drew to first encounters and impressions. On the contrary, the Gryffindor forgot to mention how deceitful appearances could be — much like the female from Beauxbatons Academy.

“‘Poor girl’?” recited the boy from the conversation earlier today.

So when Damian recommenced his journey to the Slytherin’s Common Room after a quick “Artifice” to the stone wall, he _tsked_ in pure disbelief.

“Fragile my arse.”

* * *

Wherever the term paradox was to have a visual representation, then the Beauxbatons girl would be dead-smacked in the center.

The young Wayne was resolute, a little _too_ resolute, that blue-haired girl was out to get him in the worst way possible. 

For a 414,000 square feet castle with at least 1,000 students, one would not anticipate running into the same person unless they were acquaintances. Alack, the dour Slytherin unwillingly earned the fate to come across Heart-Shaped Cheeks (yes, he gave her a nickname, in reason to his weariness for calling her by her school label) over and over — and for Circe’s sake, he didn’t even know her own name!

She’s like...how could he describe it? A tick that won’t get off him no matter how hard he tried, and he had proof.

For instance, that circumstance during his Potions class two weeks ago.

He was adding porcupine quills to his cauldron, experimenting with the Elixir for Euphoria. When the noise surrounding him commenced to tune down, he looked away from his brewing to see a few Beauxbaton students in front of the classroom. 

“Students, halt your brewing for the time being,” Professor Slughorn announced. 

Succeeding in catching all eyes, he smiled. “Some of the lovely pupils of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic will be joining us for today’s class. As their curriculum and way of teaching may be divergent from ours, this is a wonderful occasion for them to observe how we perform. Being it every five years that we compete in the Triwizard Tournament with two separate schools, it is hardly detrimental to create new associations and comradeships.” He fixed the cufflinks of his dress-shirt in preparation to clear his throat. “Now, I expect all of you to be on your best behavior and treat the pupils of Beauxbatons with respect.” 

Slughorn motioned to the foreign guests in addition. “Feel free to communicate and interact with one another. If there are no questions, return to your task. I’ll be around if you acquire my assistance. That is all.”

For one thing, Damian did not acquire assistance, he never did. At the top of his classes and perhaps one of the smartest students at Hogwarts, producing this concoction was a piece of cake —

“Merlin’s favorite fluffy bathrobe!” grunted his best-friend, hands buried in his hair. “I stirred clockwise when it was supposed to be anti-clockwise!”

— too bad it wasn’t as easy for others.

Damian tried to encourage him, “Just try again. At least you’re aware of your mistake.”

Flipping the light switch, his pout made a 180 and the sunny Gryffindor was back on his feet. “You’re right! Learning always comes with trial and error; this is not the minute to give up!” 

He threw a fist in the air. “All right, I’m going to clear my cauldron. Be back in a jiff!”

Damian snorted, entertained by his antics. Subsequently, he combined his ingredients, tossing in the peppermint, sopophorous beans, and wormwood. As soon as he recognized it, the potion altered into its yellow-hued state.

In the span of his brewing, howbeit, peculiar judders tingled inside him. The hairs of his back arose and were it not for Damian’s strong control over his body, he’d have his fingers twitching. 

He consciously knew why. 

Someone was staring at him, and that someone resulted to be the very person he became oddly familiar with. 

How he realized it was Heart-Shaped Cheeks were ideas he could not verbally elucidate. 

The boy was an open book under her gaze. Damian detected the scrutiny of her every motion which left a persistent flame dance across his skin whenever she decided to trail downwards, upwards, or sideways. And once he sensed the burning ogle inspecting every scale of his hands, the sixteen-year-old fought the urge to release the cage of butterflies cowing to liberate themselves in the pit of his stomach. 

He hated being spied on.

He was no doll on display, and the thought of it made him annoyed. 

The Ice Prince elevated his head where a scowl planted on his face. He wanted to capture Heart-Shaped Cheeks red-handed and give her a piece of his mind when her eyes drifted elsewhere from him. 

She seemed to be getting a scathing talk from her friend, who had blonde hair tied up in a high pony-tail and currently wore a nagging expression based on her unpleasant posture. The victim, in lieu, stood there shyly. A crimson tint covered her cheeks as she absorbed in whatever her friend spewed at her. 

“Vous êtes incroyable!” she jeered.

 _You are unbelievable_ , Damian translated to himself.

He possessed no business in barging into their exchange and nearly switched his focus to the elixir until Heart-Shaped Cheeks shamelessly plucked up the courage to peep over his path once more. She, much to her alarm, by no means awaited to learn she had formerly gotten caught.

Her face changed to a deeper color of scarlet, provided it was further possible. 

Before Damian could do something, Jon came back and clamped him on the shoulder. The Slytherin, automatic, whipped to whoever was touching him upon registering it was the fellow Gryffindor. 

It was evident Jon became skeptical of his actions. The blue-eyed male assessed the situation and his hutches led him to one of the students from Beauxbatons Academy. He glimpsed side-to-side (from his now-tensed friend to the blushing-guest), slowly but surely connecting the dots till the light bulb kindled in him. 

“Are you flirting or starting a fight?”

Damian became appalled. “ _What?!_ ”

“What?”

“How _dare_ you insinuate that absurd thought,” spat the shorter guy. “Where did you even get that foolish idea? _Balderdash_!” Damian aggressively proceeded in completing the elixir, mixing it with tremendous force. 

Jon slipped his hands in his pockets. “It’s just a question, either one or the other.”

 _“Neither.”_ The tone growled out from him indicated he no longer wanted to endorse this trifling dialogue than he already had.

He puckered his lips, unconvinced. “Whatever you say.” Then, Jon perceived the finished product Damian created. He chuckled, “Maybe you ought to drink some of that Euphoria Elixir, you could use some.”

Those were the last words Jon uttered before the Hogwarts’ Champion cast the silencing charm on him.

* * *

According to the chatters amidst the individuals at Hogwarts, Heart-Shaped Cheeks was an angel. From their story-tellings, she leaves a swarm of pretty butterflies whenever she walks by and even brings the sun out with one glance at her appearance...at this rate, might as well be easier to just allude to her as a mythical Goddess than to side-step on the stones. She was a lovely gal who always made sure to thank her professors at the end of class, helped classmates whenever they needed help, and shared her pastries whenever she baked. In other terms, everyone admired the Champion and probably wouldn’t deny being wrapped around her finger.

Damian laughed full of fraud, a trace of bitterness and suspicion intertwined. He was no fool. 

Ever since the incident in Potions, the Beauxbatons' Champion forged her primary mission to make him uncomfortable on all ends. There passed no day where Damian hadn’t sensed the familiar pair of blue eyes gawking at his whole existence. No matter how or where, she consistently managed to find him, like she was the moth and he was the flame. And on any occasion where the Ice Prince confronted her with a fixed stare of his own, her reflexes were too nimble for him to seize her tail and terminate this chase of cat and mouse once in for all, which, in conclusion, left the Slytherin a perception of disorientation and delusion.

What was so intriguing to her that she demanded to seek him out at all cost? 

Kaiser was a magnet himself; without fail, attracting all the interest and fame. The last two Champions, albeit, are not as lenient and preferred to keep their activities and personal lives private. Perchance she was more of a dangerous opponent than he thought. To snoop on him, to unearth any weaknesses that may prove beneficial to her for the First Task. Yes, that must be it. She utilized her pure looks and yummy macarons to win everyone’s favor.

“As the guards of Azkaban, Dementors feed on human happiness regardless of their absence of vision. Because of their power to drain away all positive emotions…”

The Hogwarts’ Champion removed his heavy thoughts. This whole condition with Heart-Shaped Cheeks compelled him to muse off during class. It was not worth worrying about insignificant affairs. 

Snape's sinister and soulless voice resonated in the room, along with the quiet scribbles of the chalk. His gradual, tedious tongue clung onto each syllable of the word to draw a shallow breath, droning out a particular student in another tempting consideration.

Damian could pay no further attention. He understood this topic front to back, or actually the total syllabus that covered the year; no advantage in relearning it when it’s a waste of time and effort. On the high brink between boredom and restlessness, his hand latched around the quill after a dozen attempts to loosen its excited tapping upon the wooden desk to deflect the sudden anxiety taking over. 

"...darkness, fear, anguish, and pain as the victim relive its worst memories..."

The lad beside him wasn’t doing so hot. 

Jon’s head kept limping while it brawled the compulsion to let go and snooze off to fantasy land. The fist stationed beneath his chin didn’t do much either to support the slouched Gryffindor.

As Snape's back faced the students, he paused for a bit. The void of sound abandoned the existence of his deliberation and approached the chilling pressure in the classroom. In the depth of Jon's eyelids fighting to shut close, he watched (or at least what he could manage to see) the petite movement of Snape's wrist.

The professor barely lifted the chalk off the board before scraping it, so fast, Jon hopped straight up from his seat: disheveled and dumbstruck. Damian hadn’t flinched like everyone else, but the disapproval for the maddening clamor showed in his wrinkled lips. The squealing cry of the chalkboard resulted in a collection of groans, which shortly cut to a halt when Snape's remote, yet bitter remark made them frigid in their seats.

"As such, it would be understandable for some to not appreciate nor possess the capacity to take part in the cognizance of examining perilous creatures and the Dark Arts. _However_ , - " he made a sharp spin to meet the class, mouth curled into a sneer, "as this is a N.E.W.T level class precisely chosen by every single one of you, I expect discipline and diligence..." he dragged off.

A smoldering menace overlooked the students until it landed on the half-sleeping Gryffindor, whose head practically dropped from its continuous up and down sways.

"Then again..." Snape resumed, "perhaps some of you have arrived at Hogwarts, already in the retention of skills so impregnable that you feel bold enough to _not.Pay.Attention_."

When Damian was too late to realize his seating-buddy got in trouble, his nudge became futile when a heap of bulky textbooks emerged in mid-air before gravity took its course and crashed onto their table. Parchments, quills, ink violently wobbled.

Jon lunged out of his seat. "Ah! My favorite color is blue, and I love ice-cream!"

Palms above him, he gawped at the pack of eyeballs toward him, and in one's own good time, batted his eyelashes when he arrived at the conclusion that he was in class. 

Everyone, except the incensed professor, slipped out a range of chuckles. Even Damian — the unemotional Ice Prince — cracked open a small smile at his blameless friend.

" _Mr. Kent,_ " hissed Snape.

He boldly beamed, knowing all too well his arse was bound to be hexed. "Professor Snape."

"Since you present to be awake and are surely confident on the topic due to your lack of surveillance — tell me, what makes Dementors so, that deem them to be one of the most lethal creatures to inhabit the world?"

Damian saw the gears churn in Jon’s mind. If only he could telepathize to assist him, but he got rid of the belief. His friend was smarter than that; he had this under control. 

The Gryffindor racked away from the misty haze from his slumber to jumpstart his brain. "When Dementors suck the soul of a victim, there's no possibility of recovery and incapable of thought, the victim is a locked state in which they will have no sense of self. No memories or emotions. They are merciless and primitive monsters that are unable to feel or identify feelings."

From his eye-to-eye duel with the peevish old bloke, he marked his fellow companions glimpse amongst each other, impressed. Damian tossed him a satisfied smirk, and Jon grinned, proud of his answer until he met the look that resembled daggers.

Snape's icy scowl narrowed. "Incorrect. Five points from Gryffindor."

Taken back and puzzled, Jon rubbed his neck, "But sir, I'm pretty sure - "

" - I asked _what,_ not _why._ "

Jon hoisted his finger and smiled. "In all cases, sir, explaining the reasoning behind the _what_ still correlates back to the question."

His professor folded his hands together and the natural glower on his face descended lower than usual. "If I wanted you to give me a lengthy clarification on _why_ they are lethal, then I would, but I didn't." He fanned out his black cloak and patrolled back and forth in front of them. "Five points from Gryffindor for sleeping in class, five for not paying attention, five for talking back - "

" - Professor, that's how a conversation works," interrupted Damian who grew tired of the discourse.

Snape didn’t bother to see who spoke. “And an extra five points for you - ” when he linked the familiar-biting timbre to Damian, his reaction couldn’t have been worse. “ - Ah, Mr. Wayne.”

“Well-spotted.”

Said boy raised his eyebrows at his professor who was on the verge of exploding like a detonated missile. 

A pin dropped to alert a heavy silence. The tension steeped its way up inch by inch. To be in attendance betwixt two paramount presences was pressuring adequate. But for them, both personified the House of Slytherin, it was like witnessing destruction obligated to take effect. Some fidgeted in their seats to subdue their expanding jitters and others awkwardly shuffled their feet on the ground, pretending there was a small pebble to distract them from the real present.

“Has anyone ever questioned you about your behavior, Mr. Wayne? Distinctly your loud and - ” 

“ - and admiring self-discipline, I dare to profess.”

In front of the class entrance located Professor Fu, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Arms folded behind him and his typical warm smile greeted the youthful teenagers. 

“Fu.” Snape acknowledged in such a way that he wanted to be certain it was him. 

The Headmaster confirmed it for him. “Severus. It is invariably magnificent to witness your teaching first hand; your passion and loyalty arouse revelation.” He noticed the attention on him. “Why, good morning to you all. I hope you all had a good rest.”

Snape maintained an unreadable expression, but whether or not the professor was cynical or forced himself to accept the compliment was a strenuous swallow.

“What brings for your visitation, Fu?”

His eyes grew smaller ascribed by the stretching of his lips. Wrinkles etched across his cheeks to display his incoming delight. “I am not certain if any of you heard or have gotten the opportunity, but several weeks ago, some pupils from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institution viewed the learnings and regulations of our school. Since then, Madame Bustier, Professor Karkaroff, and I have been in consideration. As it is not often we meet each other because of our distance nor unfamiliarity, we decided to create a solution.”

For some known reason, Damian’s gut wrenched and told him he wasn’t going to like whatever the next words were about to roll out next.

Fu clamped his hands together. “From now until the end of the Triwizard Tournament, students from all three schools will be allowed to share classes, only in particular subjects, though. I will clarify more in detail during supper.”

“I recognize that what we are implementing is abrupt and uncommon, but the Headmasters and I believe this is an excellent way of bringing the schools closer together. With that said, to prevent any missed learnings, I already have a few of our guests that will be joining this class.”

On signal, the new students approached out from outside the classroom, a flash of light cerulean tailed behind.

Damian desired to curse himself right then and there

Of course. 

Of-fucking-Merlin’s-most-baggy-Y-fronts-course.

Negative emotions are forgotten, people began to push themselves upon their desks in excitement and salute their new classmates, Damian remained immobile accompanied by a strained jaw. 

It was dark versus light. Jon appeared to be as high-spirited as ever, whereas the boy beside him at best furrowed his brows.

“I do know you all will try your hardest to make your new classmates as comfortable as possible. All of you are wonderful and benevolent, so I am confident in your abilities in conserving the reputation of Hogwarts.” Fu’s gaze persisted to stay on Damian’s for a little longer. 

The Slytherin endeavored his utmost hardest to not roll his eyes, and instead, flickered his green orbs to Heart-Shaped Cheeks who shockingly had yet to gape at him. She entwined her hands together in politeness and kept her regard on Professor Fu.

The blue-haired girl either had no clue he was there, or she played dumb, pretending he was not there….Damian reckoned the latter. 

A number of six students still sported their uniforms. Nonetheless, the females wore knee-length dresses and males donned pants. Both had sapphire capes with ribbon fastenings and slightly pointy hats. 

“And,” a lighthearted smirk tugged on his facial expression, “We even have our very two Champions in this room.”

How humiliating.

People stared at the two, and the Ice Prince burned lasers through them when they glanced in his direction. Heart-Shaped Cheeks bit her lip from the teasing her friends initiated. 

Snape portrayed his indecision. “Fu - ”

“Severus, I consider your contemplation.” He lifted his hand to pause him. “But, I give credence that you will succeed in catching these students up-to-date if they are not where you are. Trust me, you out of all people know that I will not depend on people if I do not think they can handle it.”

The DADA professor itched to argue, but Fu’s next statement ended the consultation.

“I wish you the best of luck, and if you need guidance, do not hesitate to ask,” Fu assured the curious Beauxbatons students. “I will take my leaving and hope this day may grace you all. Thank you, students, Severus.” He slightly bowed and departed.

Ice Prince’s eyeballs pierced Heart-Shaped Cheeks when Snape informed them where to sit. She sat next to Blonde-Pony-Tail and their desk was two rows behind them and in the next column, just a good enough place for Heart-Shaped Cheeks to get a free spot of the back of his head whenever she wanted.

Blast him now, dang it.

When everything settled and back to the normal (and tedious) lectures, Snape flicked his wand toward each of the tall windows to blind them close. He yanked down the string of the screen and twirled —

"Now turn to page two hundred and fifty-four."

* * *

The closure of the Defence Against the Dark Arts period meant the beginning of freedom. 

Once class finished, the young wizards and witches wasted no time in packing up their stuff and headed over to bombard their French classmates: introducing themselves and asking minimal inquiries. Not yearning to be here more than he had to, Snape was one of the first people to exit and expressed he was about to throw a tantrum if he were to interact with any more of his students. 

Damian never saw Jon so happy. Definitely, that boy was the definition of happy-go-lucky — yet, Gallopin’ gorgons, the Gryffindor’s face was practically radiating; it lit up brighter than the sun, and then fell a soft pining on his tan features. His droopy lethargy vanished, replaced by an awakening daze that clouded over his crystal-blue globes. 

“Hey, I’ll catch ya later.” Jon gestured, his body tingled to run off. “There’s something I gotta do.”

There it was again; his strange behavior.

“Uh-huh.” 

“What?”

“Nothing. Now leave. Your grin makes me want to throw-up.”

The Gryffindor, quicker than lightning, bolted out to the hallway. In a short time, all individuals occupied in the room were now barren, and Damian was alone.

“Good job today.”

At least that’s what he originally thought.

“The way you answered Professor Snape’s questions, I mean. You were the only one who seemed to know the answers.” 

The soft voice meant no harm whatsoever, rather a blend of intrigue and charm; something Damian couldn’t quite put his wand on, on the account of his absence of exposure to it. 

His head tilted. A barely-seen falter in the manner of his hands placing the parchments in his bag. Compliments and flattery came to him consistently, but seldom to him directly. 

He turned around, nonchalantly. 

It wasn’t seeing Heart-Shaped Cheeks before him that stunned him, much more the fact that she bared mere feet away which elicited him to take an extra pace back.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She smiled and gave him her hand. “Um, you’re Damian Wayne, correct?”

When Damian hadn’t responded, she dropped her arm, yet her smile wasn’t discouraged. 

At this present moment, where she stood somewhat close to him, the green-eyed boy certainly distinguished her heart-shaped cheeks. Her dark-blue long hair twisted into a simple braid rested on her shoulder. Side bangs just above her eyebrows let him take in those twinkling blues; Jon’s were blue as well, electrifying and vibrant cobalt that forthwith drew everyone in, but hers were faded. Faded, but pacific and knowing; an acquired taste in order to appreciate what held deep inside them.

Her fingers fiddled. “Not to sound creepy or anything, but I hear amazing qualities about you. So, as we both represent our school for the Triwizard Tournament, I wanted to tell you it is an honor to compete against you. And I wish us to have a fun time while we are at it.” She breathed out, in hopes that her small accent didn’t ruin her message.

It took a while for Damian to say anything.

“What’s your aim?”

Her eyebrows arose. “Pardon?”

The Slytherin drove straight to the point at high speed. “For someone to applaud me on my skills, it wasn’t so hard to figure out who watched me like a hunting lioness. However, why they did is the question.”

A giggle slipped from her. “You knew, as expected.”

“You’re not innocent,” Damian said, firm and rough, staring into her to discover any movement of hesitance. 

The girl pretended to be lost and puckered her lips. “Innocent?” she tested the new vocabulary word off her tongue, and the wary boy unintentionally shivered. “There are a lot of meanings to it. How so?”

A million words and flashbacks danced in Damian’s head to aid him, and he conjured a solid sum of proof to refute her, but for notions unknown, the stubborn sixteen-year-old’s mouth became parched dry in preparation for the delivery. He wanted to expose them. To no avail, the conception of him declaring the number of occurrences she peered at him, on her own accord, and the staircase event made him feel imprudent. 

Was this chase between cat and mouse going to stop? Or, really, was he the mouse the entire time and she was the cat, pursued to seize him in her trap?

His teeth ground when competitive spirits racked up inside him. “That’s what I plan to find out.”

Marinette grinned, but Damian knew she was teasing. “I sure hope you do!”

“I will.”

This time, Marinette responded sincerely, “Good, because I’ll be rooting for you.” She stared at him once more, eyes vivid and rousing. “It was nice meeting you, Damian.”

As Marinette walked off, the sun shined into the room and left Damian in his cauldron pot of bewilderment and curiosity. 


	2. secrets untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY: Hogwarts' Champion, Damian, believes that Beauxbatons' Champion, Marinette is up to no good. Her constant looks and appearances drive him delirious as many people favor the female. To his dismay, she joins his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and from that day on, Damian vows to prove her to her that she isn't as 'innocent' as oughts to be,
> 
> NOW: Damian faces a dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After reading this chapter, PLEASE READ the author's notes at the very end!! I have important information to ask in regards to what your ideal fancast is for this story :) 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug, DC, nor the illustrations from Pottermore :(
> 
> WARNING: the beginning scene contains violence and blood 
> 
> And one last thing, very slow updates because college is not fun.

Damian walked down the corridor. The dark stone walls closed in on him only to push the boy toward the inevitable door that remained at the end of the foyer. He pressed himself against the barriers to guide him through the black unknown. The jagged and gritty crystals bore into his back; a drain of ice from the tips seared upon the touch of his hot skin; maybe if he sunk in hard enough, the stone walls could engulf him altogether right then and there. 

His panted breaths grappled to lull. Why was it so loud? Why did it echo on all sides? And  _ painful _ , each exhalation smoldered his throat arid while his lungs wheezed. His brain foraged for any possible exits, legs stumbled like he had grown a third. The unlit surroundings forbade him the ability to see but the vague outline of the door at the dead-end; it was the only thing allowed to slip past his blind vision. 

Careful, Damian took treads. Palms gripped the walls  ─  whether to stable his balance or be certain the floor wasn’t going to disappear. It didn’t. 

_ Pat.  _

_ Pat.  _

_ Pat. _

The faint sounds from the pads of his feet briefly calmed the boy. The silence prior was so blaring, building up for something big to happen. Nothing did...for now, at least.

When he reached the entrance, he looked at it. Whatever concealed beyond this gate did not interest Damian in the slightest. Yet, did it really matter? It’s not like he had a choice to start with. 

He twisted the handle, ignoring the ghost sensations spiraling up his arm. 

_ Creeeaaakkk. _

The whispers hit him. The room groaned to spill its suppressed riddles; those hushed tones urged him to reverse back lest he wished to see another day of the sun again. He reached for his belt, on instinct, where his katana usually rested on his hip, but it was gone, his fingers hooked on nothing. 

One moment his feet waited on the imaginary boundary-line between the passage and the secluded area, and the next, he was within, despite never recalling of taking a step. 

A room meant a place to rest without consequence, a place to achieve privacy, and a place to run away from the harsh truths and expectations of the real world. And as the floorboards wailed with old age, one thing could be established that this room did not provide any of the following. 

The solitary light from the moon shone through the window. It oozed across the wooden ground, and shadows shrunk deeper into the pitch-black to guard their obscurities enclosed, deeply afraid of the illuminating glow would avow their most ominous secrets. Cobwebs and debris decorated the corners. Senile mold clustered to the ceiling, which trailed down the window’s panels: grime and ivy of gault. 

Overall, it was empty. Except for the tall object at the far end disguised under a white cover.

He approached it. Each stride deeper in the deserted place screamed torture for his nose. Dense as mud, the stale air choked him. Musty. Mildewed. Malodorous. 

No faltered motions when he slid off the covering to display a shiny mirror. 

Damian squinted at his reflection, a twist of disgust and dislike gripped into form. His skin saw better days when he noticed the pallor of his complexion. Then, there were his eyes. Emerald and sly. They watched. They preyed. They spoke of bitter memories in the depths of those black pupils beneath the fixed façade. Oh, the loath he had for these colored-eyes…

It was ironic. It had to be once those emerald orbs began to flare. As though the Gods were punishing him for his past sinister deeds, the reflection before him took a life of its own. Damian parted his mouth, shock locked in his bones, as his reflection — or rather the person in the mirror welcomed him with a blood-curling grin. It laughed hysterically, hurling back its head to generate reverberations shaking the mirror. Instantaneous, its head shot up and looked straight back at him; eyes overflowed with shamrock luminosity that not even the scleras were visible. 

Damian was yanked with a clutch of his shirt, forcing him to meet a bloodied face. His heart lurched against his rib-cage. Adrenaline started to pump through his veins, while he shoved away from the tight hold. Words that cannot be explained, dead bodies, which weren’t there initially, gradually erected from the ground. When he staggered back to stop himself and remember his evil reflection in the mirror, the boy peered back.

He shouldn’t have. 

On the alternate side of the mirror, it conducted its own fun. With its katana, it slashed through the deceased, a merciless simper overtook its features as it repeatedly rammed the tilt of his sword in and out. In spite of being on two different sides, Damian smelt the sharp and coppery stench. Abhorrence dominated his insides, thick and heavy. 

It roared, his head glitched in odd positions till it coerced to face Damian once more. 

The moving lifeless bodies tossed themselves onto Damian, seizing him hostage. It sauntered to him with such a baleful appearance, Damian’s lips trembled while his legs flexed to take control. And when its hands came out of the mirror to grab him, Damian screamed.

“ _ No! _ ” yelled the boy. 

He elbowed his capturers, his martial arts training possessed him when he dodged an obvious blow with a duck and sent a roundhouse kick. His legs ran him to the mirror, and he punched the glass. The glass shards shattered with a  _ clang  _ before his feet, and Damian didn’t care to catch a breath or react to the warm liquid pooling down his knuckles when he dashed to the door. 

The room behind him hung in spiky fragments, crevices shaped in its collapsing illusion. Yet he was too busy to look back; the floor crumbled and disintegrated with his touch the same way his feet trampled across, barely feeling the wooden deck. 

His body flung toward the appearing light, and the next thing he knew, his world became black.

* * *

Damian’s eyes cracked open, cold-sweat trickled down his forehead whilst his breathing heaved in and out to pacify his pounding heart. His neck twisted warily to find any approaching danger. 

Solace kneaded over his compressed clasps when he recognized his eagle, Aurelian, on the footboard of his bed. The pale-yellow globes guarded the young boy, in addition with a tilt of his small head, as if to ask about his master’s troubled behavior.

His hands propelled him to sit up against the headboard and nestled his face. The scintillating sunlight hit him from the ajar fissure of the blinds, and the Slytherin hadn’t heed until Aurelian flapped his wings. The proud bird made himself cozy onto Damian’s shoulder, provoking the boy to divert his attention from the silent thinking. He removed fresh ideations and offered his finger to the animal, who graciously accepted it as an invitation to nuzzle his feathery cheek with. It was impossible to not smile.

For once, the Ice Prince permitted himself to relax, just for this second. His protective shields, at a leisure tempo, prepared to lower; jaw slackened, and chest rose in moderate respirations. The vacancy without any prying eyeballs was a rare occurrence for the most part of Damian’s life. 

A lively snore enkindled his nerves. 

Or rather, unawakened eyeballs somewhat…

The Slytherin dormitory held substantial space. Three mattresses stationed on particular sides of the room, molding a triangular shape with near tall windows resided between each gap (in exception for the door between his roommates’ beds). Polished bookshelves and desks filled in extra breaches, leaving the center of the room empty, but a vast sage rug decorated with opulated patterns to match the elegant swirls carved in their smooth stoned walls. 

Damian looked past the ornamental canopy, not startled to spot his roommates — the twins — sprawled across their bunks. Even when they’re not next to each other, the two still managed to be in synchronization: legs spread apart, arms underneath their pillows, and mouths wide open for a fly to waltz in.

Wren and Caspian Banderas were likely, at most, the few other people here at Hogwarts that Damian could bear after Jon. 

They were zestful, like the fellow Gryffindor; but passionate and daring they were, it couldn’t contend to their whimsical and crafty ambitions which separated them from the lion’s den and into the snake’s hole. Unlike many, the brothers weren’t intimidated by the Ice Prince. Prudent, yes, though the boys continued to make do with their feral personalities (with some alteration whenever they’re with Damian). 

It was one of the reasons why he didn't mind dorming with them. Ever since he arrived in the fourth year and randomly got stuck with them, the three banded and organized together their set of regulations. At first, he was concerned over bunkmates, keeping in view he tended to dislike anyone new he meets. Nonetheless to his immense amazement, they weren’t too bad; he barely saw them at any rate due to Quidditch practices or them off scheming ahead to execute a new prank. That was back then, though. With the Triwizard Tournament in progress, the Inter-House Quidditch Cup would not be taking place, which enabled spare encounters for the three besides class (not like the twins needn’t see each other; they’re stuck at each other’s hips all day).

Aurelian flew to perch back onto the footboard. Damian gilded aside his covers to touch the hard timber of his floor. Wiggling his toes and certain that the bottom was not going to vanish, he stretched his tired limbs.

Sending forth one last glance at the mirroring twins, the boy trudged by the two beds and ushered himself into the bathroom.

And hopefully this time, he won’t have to come face to face with his evil twin.

* * *

Yesterday, a journalist by the name of Rita Skeeter came to interview the Champions. She was pale, extremely pale, and white as a ghost. Her blond rigid curls framed her heavy-penciled eyebrows and jeweled spectacles. Lips red as crimson and nails long enough to easily break from the slightest pressure, Rita Skeeter was definitely someone Damian should avoid. And that he did. 

Thanks to Kaiser’s fondness for the stardom, it wasn’t difficult for Damian to skip along or escape the reporter’s callings; they were too distracted by Kaiser showing off his new Thunderbolt VII.

Apparently, whilst not even done interviewing all the Champions, Skeeter had so far labeled them as “The Big Three.” Cringy as it was, somehow or another, it made him become aware that he  _ had _ heard of Rita Skeeter. 

His father used to be a victim. She named him the “Pitiful Playboy” after forging an inflated tale on his tragic family history (although he never mentioned it in the actual interview itself). It was fortunate the public never bought her telling since Thomas and Martha Wayne’s story was already well-known. And why his father still had yet to sue her for false misinformation was beyond Damian. Likely the goodness in his father’s heart and not wanting to cause mayhem, but what benefit does it serve when she persists in deception? In his opinion, the best way to solve the problem is to root it out for good, so if that meant performing the banishing charm on her, he would’ve readily done so. 

Damian purposely swerved to the right, advancing in a longer route to steer clear from Skeeter’s claws. In contrast to him, people walked in the opposite direction; they wore eager looks, companions clumped beside them to get some food in their stomachs at the Great Hall. The Slytherin could merely watch. The way their lips curved, the way their eyes piqued, and the way their faces effortlessly broke out into a hundred different reactions — far from what Damian had always shown: a resentful scowl. 

He grew used to the jovial appearances people expressed. Neither did it make him happy or angry, more of, well, indifferent. Unnaturally, these days said otherwise. 

These emotions of dissatisfaction and hollowness. So irrelevant and tiring. It was challenging to pinpoint when it embarked, but it snuck in on him like a fox; it could've been when he was brushing his teeth, doing his daily exercises, or hissing at Skeeter for all he knew. For one thing, certainly was the unexplainable loss of motivation the second he stepped under the showerhead and contemplated below the icy water that morning. 

Before he comprehended it, he’d stomped in the Slytherin Dungeon and up the stairs.

After his chucked-off schoolbag, the student hurried in to crash on his bed.

The dormitory was empty and inhabited none of the noises from the Banderas twins who were, like the rest, eating lunch. He wasn’t hungry, not particularly wary, but the call to get out and inspire his body into exhilaration swung him off the bed.

While he slid on his joggers, his toe managed to trip out faster than he expected and stubbed against the cabinet.

" _ Fuck! _ " he yelped, clinging onto his injured foot. "The twins and their fuckin' need to bring their whole wardrobe."

Even for someone who had been stabbed, cursed, or nearly died many times, one could never escape the superior pain of a stubbed toe. 

He took his robes off aggressively, throwing it behind him into the chasm of the laundry basket to put on a new shirt and tied on his running shoes. And subsequent to a decent amount of swiped deodorant, the Slytherin departed to the Quidditch Pitch.

* * *

The balls of his feet pummeled the turf with ease, harmoniously streaming by his thirtieth lap around the field. He ran, colliding with the sturdy winds as the ocean waves would thrash against the sandy shore. Moisture narrowly dribbled down his face. Endurance bred in him as he surged for an additional few courses. It was after his rounds of single-leg squats, oblique holds, push-ups, lateral skaters, and tuck-ins when sweat struck past his jaw and the lactic acid burned his muscles.

He graciously accepted the gulp of water from his bottle and lay on the grass while illumination blazed through the crack of his fingers hoisted in the sky. Damian simply gazed at the three goalposts at the far end of the pitch. Motionless, he envisioned quaffles hurling into the hoops from either one of his teammates — Magnus, Fayola, or Chibale— as if it was yesterday. He could hear the clamorous  _ ding!  _ and the enraptured applause from the Slytherin stands.

_ "10 points to Slytherin!"  _ Seong-ho, a Hufflepuff and the Quidditch's commentator would announce.

His eyes wandered onto the white markings of the grass, and memories flaunted at him. The reminiscing Slytherin could see Fayola perfecting the Chelmondiston Charge, a tactic used by a Chaser to stand on their broom and score the quaffle into one of the goalposts. Next to her, Chibale pitched quaffles at Henriette to practice her defense techniques. Last but not least, Magnus giving (his younger brothers) Wren and Caspian an earful for trying to sabotage the Gryffindor's team practice, which the twins innocently stated that it was all for "'jokes and fun.'" Then, Damian detected himself. High in the sky, he soared without bother. So liberating and aching. As it should be, for a Seeker.

For a while, the reserved Slytherin pondered. Shades of orange and yellow soon to drift across the sky, Damian knew his time overstayed. His legs impelled him to rise and stretch from the long period of resting. A hush yawn burst free, and it took a jiff for the teenager to notice his previous fatigue.

From slapping his face to rubbing his eyeballs, he became more awake and snapped his head to a snarling screech on the outskirts of the pitch.

Fully alert, he surveyed the surroundings and quieted his breathing to find the source of the foreign noise. But when he figured out it came from the far north of where he rose, the curious boy wasted no second in following the trail. 

His adept expertise guided him. The ground failed to unmute the inaudible and petite  _ taps _ from Damian, while he hopped from one cobblestone to another. His shoes trotted back onto the olive turf, silent as a shadow. The shrieks got louder the closer he proceeded, and the site ahead of him revealed the recognizable colossal and thick trees, its branches shaped in a jagged, mystifying structure.

"The Forbidden Forest," muttered Damian, an eyebrow raised to display his suspicion.

If there was one excuse for the slick sixteen-year-old to be hanging around the edge of a dangerous forest with ease — notwithstanding the reoccurring and strict warnings from Professor Fu — here was the obvious answer: Hagrid's Hut.

His hair ruffled when he sprinted down and throughout the short hills. The smell of pumpkins mixed with the earthly soil invaded his nose once he reached toward the entrance of the wooden shack.

Unbeknownst to him, the door was ajar.

"Hagrid?"

When he's greeted by a deafening peace, Damian decided that there was no need in making himself look more like an idiot. Sure, sometimes it could be tricky to tell if someone was truly there, but that didn't mean he was willing to risk his own life for stupidly calling "hello?!" out in the open.

_ Where could he be?  _ he thought.

His first intuition was to go inside and check the hut to be certain Hagrid wasn’t there, but he grimaced at the idea. He knew the big man was not there; he  _ sensed _ it, his years of brutal discipline and experience under his arsenal shouted so —  _ It's not like he's hiding or any tosh.  _ Afterward, Damian snorted at his attempted joke,  _ Unless, he's hiding under a small table. _

"A fuckin' comedian," praised the antisocial teen.

His foot reversed back to initiate a turn so he could venture out farther in the odds of finding the half-giant. Nevertheless, the thought of not checking inside the cabin surprisingly displeased the boy more than he would've liked, despite the prior establishment that no one was in there. So with a sharp brake, Damian pivoted back to the cabin with a dramatic groan.

Creaking open the door with a light thrust from a finger, he peeked in to discover no human being in sight, but a small fire crackling under the fireplace. Near it, the dining table occupied a metal tea-kettle with a steaming cup.

Just as he left, the unfamiliar screech echoed anew. Determined to answer his questions, the boy rushed in finesse.

Out of the blue, a random thought provoked him:  _ What if Hagrid was in danger? _

In any other situation, he would’ve scoffed at the silly claim. Hagrid’s intellect and prowess made him a formidable opponent, and if he knew how to tame magical creatures, he could surely handle himself. 

But what about the odd noises?

His legs worked hastier. Up ahead lied the entry to the Forbidden Forest which caused him to blink, unfazed. Normal people would right off the bat stop in fear and scram away. But for Damian, he was not the slightest bit normal. Suddenly, Fu's voice rang in the far back of Damian’s hippocampus, yelling at him not to enter — in reference to the Slytherin’s audacious  _ and _ dangerous choices. In Damian's defense, he actually  _ did _ deliberate on whether or not it was a good idea to intrude, but then again, it became vain when this came straight from the guy who continued to run at full speed into the prohibited area. 

_ “A certain disregard for the rules,”  _ Fu characterized the House of Slytherin. He was correct as a matter of fact.

The moment he stepped within the woodland, the atmosphere already felt different. The eerie and faint sensations snaked inside; a tickling touch that forced him to rid it off.

It wasn’t his first time entering the Forbidden Forest alone, but going when the sun began to set was a new experience.

Situating his run to a pause, he cautiously observed the territory to spy any shifting gestures and strolled in a stealthy manner, not even letting his guard down for a second. 

He focused on his ears, blocking the forest’s white hum, and picked up a sloshing wet sound. He squatted to feel the dirt and the solid surface of the ground. The boy waited. His static hand submerged in the earth’s clod. And as the rhythm of his breathing slowed, he perceived the distant vibrations. His pinky and ring fingers wavered toward the left side and soon enough, Damian retracted back up to follow his lead.

As the sixth year approached the colossal tree that screened the mysterious creature behind it, he slithered out his wand for any impending attacks.

When Damian glimpsed out from his cover, his eyes slightly broadened. A few yards in front of the tree he hid in exhibited the back of a huge body. The reality that it was huge didn't surprise him, but seeing a weird combination of what it looked like to be half-horse and half-bird: feathery and large wings, a long tail, its back two hooves resembled a horse, but the front two were claws. When it dipped his head to chew on a raw piece of flesh to unveil the iconic steel-colored beak, it finally dawned on him.

Amazement brushed away his stoic features. To be in the presence of a beautiful creature like this was something Damian greatly relished. Without thinking, he inched forward, so entranced by the magical being that he just had to be near it. 

The hybrid regarded Damian, orange beady eyes bore into him dubiously. 

_ CAH!! _

The half-bird tested him and beat its wings; a powerful gust of air at his direction. All the same, the boy was steadfast.

The animal must’ve scrutinized Damian’s wand and released another wail. His aggressive and vicious posture showed the warnings.

Damian’s look never left the bird’s. He heaved his arms and dangled the wand between his digits. Making sure the creature watched, Damian detached his grip, and it thudded to the ground. With a nervous gulp, he inclined his head, gradually coming closer to the creature with conscious footsteps. The insides of his stomach sprung into a frenzy whilst he extended his arm to it, stopping at a certain height. He made sure to look away, eyes cast downwards as the skittish tremors fought to appear.

Studying hard at the ground, the shadow before him bent down. To the boy's bewilderment, lied the half-bird bowing to him

He took it as a good sign and nudged his hand closer.

_ I guess I’ll find out if I’m losing an arm today _ , he darkly jested.

When the brute prodded its bill to Damian’s palm, he felt ecstatic. The Slytherin came face to face with him, and a smile grew when he resumed to stroke the feathers. It cooed in acknowledgment. 

"Damian! Is that yeh?"

He rotated to discover Hagrid with a bucket full of worms and insects.

"Hagrid? What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doin'? I'm feedin' Buckbeak, o' course! Most importantly, what are  _ yeh _ doin' in the Forbidden Forest? Yeh know yeh're not supposed ter be out here!"

Damian batted his eyelashes. "Buckbeak," he evaluated the name off his tongue, and Buckbeak nudged his shoulder. "I went to your hut and didn’t find you there, so I checked to see where you went."

Hagrid guffawed loudly, throwing his head back. "My? Oh, lad, I'm fine. It should be yehrself yeh should be worrin’ ‘bout when Professor Fu knows yeh here."

He shrugged. "It’s not the first time...My apologies, I guess I got ahead myself."

"Nah, yeh didn'. Never fault yerself for bein' concerned; it jus shows your kind heart." Hagrid smiled at him. 

Privately, Damian winced at the words, ‘kind heart,’ sparse for a guy like him to manifest or welcome the thought. But since it was Hagrid, someone he respected as a professor and a companion, he let it pass. 

"It seems like yeh met Buckbeak; he's a - "

Damian returned to petting Buckbeak. "Hippogriff. I knew he looked so familiar. In all the places I’ve traveled and experienced, I’ve never met a hippogriff in person. Such a fascinating creature."

Care of Magical Creatures was his favorite subject. His allure to it outweighed the other subjects, and he would favor taking the class all day and never get bored of it. Blunt, he preferred animals and creatures over mankind itself.

Hagrid was impressed. "That is right. I actually plan to teach yeh guys ‘bout hippogriffs sometime next week, but it looks like yeh already know! Ha, as expected! C'mon. Let's go back ter the hut; 's more comfortable."

The big man poured Damian a cup of tea before sitting across his visitor. 

"Sorry for the lack of hospitality. If I knew yeh were comin', I woulda made summat."

"All is forgiven; the visit was not in my plan. My stay will not be for long."

"Yeh got a point. Sun is ‘bout ter come down. I’m guessin’ Jon wasn’ wit yeh?

Fighting back to roll his eyes, he snorted, “He has been...occupied lately for reasons I am not acquainted with.”

His professor could only nod in understanding. “So sixth year, huh? How yeh feelin' so far?" 

Damian delayed to gather his thoughts only for his answer to be anticlimactic, “As I always have been.”

The big man’s mouth tugged downwards fleetingly but quickly erased it. “An’ that is?” He somewhat predicted the young boy’s response, but he held onto the small hope that he would have a change of heart.

“C’mon. Yeh’re our Hogwarts’ Champion! Are yeh not outta yer mind? I rekkon the tasks fer the Tournament will be up yeh alley! D’yeh know fer the past Tournaments, one of the Tasks involved the merpeople?” Hagrid sought to furnish engrossment in him. His brows hiked. “Yeh’ve shoulda seen them! Grey skin, yellow eyes, lon’ tails, ev’rythin’! I bin meanin’ ter meet a merrow one day…” 

The big man pressed on and rejoined the thrill of the Tournament and its possible challenges. The more chatter about it, the more the half-giant got enraptured. It was a shame the lad across from him, the Hogwarts’ Champion first and foremost, did not share the same sentiment. 

The lack of emotion on the boy’s face was the trigger for Hagrid’s awareness. And when Hagrid’s voice began to die out like a light faded off in the distance, he squinted to find some sort of clarity in the kid. Unsuccessful as it was, he jutted his jaw in granite. Hagrid had often wondered about the boy in the following three years he had known him. His intelligence. His versatility. His brawn. All were something easily interpreted from a single look at the Slytherin representative. But what of on the other side? He was unlike standing side by side with his brothers; they all were unalike in their own good ways, but he, Damian, concretized the puzzles of a cryptogram. And with no clues or beacon to decode the jigsaw, there was no way of reading the lad. Even if by miracle the solution came to show, it probably materialized in an arcane language. 

“I’m just tired.”

Such a painless utterance that enshrouded the obvious understatement. 

The silence afterward marked the inception of floating immersions and a bottle of untold messages, but it was better to leave them be. The prospect that one day, someone will find them amid the lost seas and treat them with care after its lasting journey of isolation and neglect.

And Hagrid wasn’t destined to open them. He knew. Yet it had not stopped him from wishing that someone will.

“Hagrid,” asked Damian, “have you ever felt worthless?”

The question hit him with confusion. The man’s nose crinkled, unsure about the context.

He repeated, “Worthless?”

“Like, no matter what you do or how hard you try, it never changes the way you view yourself. Or, no matter how many years go by, it never gets easier. It doesn’t matter what happens because it never seems to be enough.”

“Yes, I had,” Hagrid said grimly. “It isn’t summat anyone should feel.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“I didn’t. ‘Smatter of fact, it did on its own.” His shoulders elevated. “There’s no point in pushin’ yerself more than yeh already did; yeh are yeh own worst critic an’ nuthin’ can change that. If anythin’, t’is doin’ more harm than good if yeh keep up with the self-criticism.” 

Hagrid looked at Damian with a fixation. “Yeh worry ter much ‘bout yer faults, yeh forget to live. Ter be in the moment, ter enjoy the simple things in life. But don’ go thinkin’ that if yeh stare at the trees long enough, yeh’ll feel better — that’s not how it works,” he advised adamantly with a solid shake of his head. “There’s no rushin’ the process; it should be natural.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “And what if I still don’t feel any different?”

“That jus’ means yeh still holdin’ onto what’s keepin’ yeh back. Lad, embrace the fact that yeh can’t control ev’rythin’. For a smart and growing man such as yerself, I know yeh know what I’m sayin’ is obvious and this world is full of cruel obstacles, but sometimes, it helps when yeh speak it out loud. It makes yeh remember, intentionally, that some things are out of our hands.”

Hagrid leaned to Damian to give him a plastering smile. “And yeh shouldn’ alone enjoy the simple things in life, but the big things as well: family, friends, someone yeh hold dear to yeh. Life may be a pain in the arse, but it still has its moments of euphoria.” He gestured to the Slytherin with a bob of his jaw. “That’s only if yeh give yerself the permission to.”

The information sunk into Damian. His position on the seat hadn’t flinched nor did his hand protest to shift from the cup which turnt luke-warm. For all he knew, he was a statue waiting for an individual to take interest in him and excavate his uncharted history. Alas, in his sixteen years of living, he remained undiscovered and highly doubted anybody at all was willing to take the risk for him. Not that Damian could blame them; he was Pandora’s Box in mortal form.

A long pause drifted by before he said, “Thank you, Hagrid. I feel more cognizant.” 

He wasn’t lying, but the information became too heavy, Damian felt the urgency to leave and dwell in his own room. He needed to think this through, delicately.

A deep chuckle rang from him and the half-giant squeezed the boy's shoulder. "D'you know what folks say at a time like 'his? — 'All good thin's comes ter those who wait — Inspirin', right ? Be patient fer a little longer, and it will surely come ter yeh. I'm sorry, lad. I wish there could'v bin more."

“You’ve done more than enough. I appreciate it tremendously.”

Hagrid’s face softened. “Anthin’ ter to do fer a comrade.”

Damian managed a small smile and peeked at the window. “I should head back to the dormitory; it’s getting late.”

He agreed. "Best ter be back befur it gets too dark out. 'Urry up now. Wouldn' want anythin' ter happen."

Damian playfully scoffed at his joke. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yeh sure are, but Professor Fu doesn’ know yeh’re out here, does he?”

That shut him. “It doesn’t hurt if he never finds out.”

“Lips are sealed. Good n'ght, Damian." Hagrid barked a laugh.

* * *

On his way back to the castle, the conversation played over in his head like a record player.

_ "All good things come to those who wait." _

He didn’t mean to be pessimistic, especially if the counsel came from Hagrid who wanted the best for him. It couldn’t be helped nonetheless. At least the young Wayne had grown to be comfortable around his family. His relationship with his father was interesting. Their first meeting did not go on the right foot, but they learned (and continued) to tie their disputes. His brothers were annoying as hell, and sometimes he wished he could kick them off the edge of the earth. Still, they were his brothers, and wanting to strangle each other all the time was just their way of showing how much they cared...ironically. And Alfred, well, he deserved a big medal for dealing with them daily. He was someone Damian hadn’t mind going to whenever he felt conflicted.

Accompanied with intense contemplations, he approached the upward slope of the hill where it held the signature four tall blocks of stones. There was a soft exhale, and Damian almost imagined it was his own until it sounded...feminine?

The absorbed teen finally averted his attention. He captured a brisk movement of hair swaying in the wind behind the large rock, and his eyes narrowed.

At first, he swished his head to see if it's some sort of prank, but there was no indication whatsoever. He took a closer look, making hushed footsteps and realized the recognizable physique from behind.

To his astonishment, Marinette knew he was there and whirled around. She gasped, swift to hide a note etched in scrawling handwriting behind her back.

“Damian.” She parted her mouth. 

His eyes dried as he was too fatigued to snarl a comment. The events today and all the thinking drained him like a sponge deluged in water. If it were under different circumstances, then the Slytherin would’ve questioned her weird behavior and accused her of espionage. However, it appeared his over-the-top and abnormal exercises finally caught up to him which, in turn, resulted in him losing his keen vigilance. 

“I didn’t see you at lunch earlier, so I wondered where you went…” Marinette bit her lip before shooting her eyes ample. “N-not that I was looking for you or anything! You know, you’re the Champion for Hogwarts, and Rita Skeeter was looking for you, and I don’t know, it just made me an- I mean curious as to where you went!!” The pace she talked in combination with her small accent caused her to fumble over her explanation. 

Her face looked beet red. “But I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece - not that I’m saying you couldn’t handle yourself! I know you’re really talented, and you must’ve been chosen for a reason, so obviously you know what you’re doing!” She began nibbling on her lower lip, and the nails of her fingers feverishly clashed together.

Was his conversation with Hagrid getting to him? Dissatisfaction and hollowness? His dreams? The Triwizard Tournament? Classes? Stress? Anxiety? 

No clear solution pranced up to claim the fault of his internal turmoil. He couldn’t afford to place his bets and point wands, not right now as the French girl stood before him. 

Her dialogue came to him slowly as each bar of his energy sapped off into the air. He tried to focus on what she was saying, in all honesty, but only the image of his soft bed stole the spotlight. 

“I wasn’t hungry.”

* * *

“I wasn’t hungry.”

His voice was bereft of his usual honed and confident resonance. Rather, it sounded bare, raw with a lingering breath of lassitude that adjudged to be unfit for the notorious Slytherin, the Ice Prince, the Hogwarts’ Champion...Damian Wayne.

Marinette’s fidgeting ceased. The lines on her forehead pulled together while she scarcely made out his dark circles. His half-lidded eyes prevented her from seeing the emerald orbs, and she clenched her uniform to sweep away strands of his untidied hair that currently blocked half of his face. 

She wanted to see his face. She wanted to find out what he was feeling, hiding in that mysterious pretense of his.

Her hidden note still locked behind her back, she silently gulped. His radiating demeanor demanded no further commentary, and Marinette understood it as a sign that he didn’t plan on speaking for the rest of the evening. 

As if they both came to a speechless agreement, Damian returned to his business. His shoulder almost touched hers once he passed by. 

Marinette pressed her lips in a thin line, and without thinking, she called to him. 

“Damian.”

Her body turned to him, and his back remained still under her gaze. 

“You did good today.”

And she meant it — it was the only thing she could think about that entire day as she watched him disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is a little short, nonetheless, I hope it was something! Anyways, below I have few points to share with you all -
> 
> ◦ I created a tumblr account, but I think because it's still new, I don't know if you guys will be able to find me. (Here is the link: https://douxapricus.tumblr.com/ ) Feel free to chat with me!! Haha, I mainly created it to post some content for this fanfic (which will not be directly specified because it's a surprise). 
> 
> ◦ So the reason for my creation of tumblr and that it was necessary to gain your attention to this particular endnote is because I need your help on the casting of this fanfic. I know Arsalan Ghasemi is a popular choice for Damian or Aramis Knight, but the problem is, I sort of need someone who has a lot of pictures and gifs. With Arsalan, I couldn't find many gifs on him, clear ones, at least. Aramis Knight wasn't too bad, but I don't like keeping this idea to myself and wanted you guys' input. I heard there's Aidan Gallagher or David Mazouz. HOWEVER, I really want to try to maintain the ethnicity of Damian (but obviously, that's hard). That's why it's super important to me what you guys think because I don't want to offend anyone or accidentally make a mistake. This is an exact problem for Marinette for me. I literally have no idea who I'd pictured. For a moment, I thought of ITZYs Ryujin because of her blue hair, however, she's Korean. Ugh, it just sucks that I'm so extra because I like to do all this extra content, but I'm so worried about the fancast (can you see my conflict??) 
> 
> But yeah, please give me your list of who you see or prefer for the following characters: Damian, Marinette, Jon, Dick, Jason, Tim. I'll probably ask for more later, but I don't want to overwhelm you (also, btw I will always imagine Tim Drake as Ryan Potter, no one can convince me otherwise). I would like to apologize greatly because I know I'm asking for so much and giving you guys so much pressure - I am tremendously so sorry, please don't hate me if all goes wrong. 
> 
> ◦ On to more....lighter news. Looking at what I have, the next few chapters might be long and the pace will start to pick up. I'm so excited because I already planned what's gonna happen for the first arc!! I had taken my chemistry quiz today and I feel pretty confident *fingers crossed* so to celebrate I'm going to update and write :) I'm honestly a workaholic; I study WAY too much for my own good. My mom actually hates it when I study because she thinks I'm going to be crazy (asian mom logic, I guess). 
> 
> ◦ As a final note, thank you guys so so so much for the feedback and support! I promise, I read and respond to your comments - I just don't do it until the day I update. Yeah, I know, super weird. I'm telling you guys, my motivation plummets just like that, so if I read a new batch of comments then I will instantly feel reenergized to start writing. So don't think I'm ignoring you! I take forever to read and respond to them xD These days, I've been extremely busy since the semester started, so I barely have the time to read or much less go on here. It's probably going to be like that until May, but I have been trying to write often whenever I eat dinner.
> 
> ◦ I don't deserve you guys. Your comments bring me life; thank you so much. I hope life treats you well and see you till the next full moon (jk), but seriously, take care <3


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